


Bloodstains and The People Who Wear Them

by cupcakekiller12



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Assassins, Black Parade later, Blurryface later, Gen, Multi, Takes place during YBC, Young Blood Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakekiller12/pseuds/cupcakekiller12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There really are no words to describe Sylvia Benton other than a highly confused women with a specific skill set. She is sent to the leader of the Young Bloods; however, when she meets Patrick Stump everything changes.  Soon she recovers her lost memories of before, the past, but her past isn't exactly clean. She wears bloodstains that only she can see, and soon everyone else begins to see them too. Will she ever be able to wipe away her sins, or will the Young Bloods' find out her dark secrets and put her out of her misery?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Told Me This Was Going To Happen Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to a new story! I hope you enjoy it. Disclaimer-I do not own anything related to any of the bands mentioned on this fan fiction. So, I'll see you at the end, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the read-cupcakekiller12

The chamber Sylvia Benton was in was not a comfortable one. She was placed here unwillingly and without her permission. Her hands were behind her back with a firm knot along with her feet and her covered eyes. Her mouth gagged with a tasteless cloth; the people who had taken her had taken every precaution necessary to abduct her. She had been alone for a while now, since she had left her friends. _I’m a danger to everyone here,_ she had said, _I can’t risk anyone else’s life anymore._ And now her words were correct; she had been captured and now by God knows what they were going to do with her. Kill her, torture her, who knows-but she’d never tell them anything. She wasn’t going to give them up that easily.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice as they entered the cell she was in, “what do we have here?” Sylvia looked down at the darkness. She wasn’t going to say anything, not now, not ever, “Why, it’s the elusive Youngblood, Sylvia Benton-if that is your real name. And you thought you’d never get caught.” The disembodied voice chuckled, “Looks like we were both wrong about something.”

_I never said I would never get caught,_ thought Sylvia, _I just never thought I’d get caught so soon._ Suddenly the cloth was removed from her mouth and the one over her eyes was ripped away. As her eyes adjusted to the dim white lighting of the all metal cell, she looked at the man looked at her but she refused to say anything. “This would be a lot easier if you just told us where your friends are.” The long brown haired woman blinked as she remained quiet. “It’s nice to see that all of you are all as stubborn as the next,” the man smiled, “looks like we’ll just have deal with you just like we did them.” _I’ll die before I’ll reveal anything about them. I swore to them and I am not going to break the promise._ Sylvia gritted her teeth as she looked away, again she remained mute. “I’m Brendan…looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together.”

**There Years Later**

Her assignments were always short and to the point. No long explanation or drawn out reason why she was being sent there. It was sweet and simple; kill, bring back, or get information. She couldn’t recall a time whenever it wasn’t. This time it wasn’t just one person-this time she’d have to take hopefully only three lives-but if this one forced her hand-there would be no choice other than to kill the other one too.

_Assignment 195_

_Neutralize and bring back the leader of the Youngbloods._

There was an assumed location of the target-which was most of the time unreliable-but that didn’t make this woman give up. She never gave up until she found her mark and fired. The woman’s name was Sylvia Benton but after a several long brainwashing sessions she eventually found the name Assassin B. to be just fine. She had no memory of every being Sylvia Benton-there was no empathy or emotion in her heart or form of expression in her mind. She was merely a killing machine; a puppet dangling on strings. Nothing more, nothing less, and when she outlived her usefulness she’d be replaced much like the ones before her.

Slyvia-sorry- the assassin was already prepared. She had her weapons in her briefcase, her hair stayed the same, but unlike the before her Change, she had short black hair that barely reached her chin. The place where her hair split had a long stripe of white which stood out to everyone. That was the thing Sylvia had to give up in order to become this monster; her hair; her mother’s hair that she cherished and loved so dearly. Now her hair didn’t matter anymore. It was merely an object that was on her head. She didn’t care about love, friends, or family-all she cared about was completing her mission.

Tonight she was tracking her assignment and she’ll strike when she feels it’s the right time. But was it bad that she didn’t bother learning her target’s name or face? No one had told her-typically there is always a photo in the file. Even if there was a name she didn’t learn it. They were going to be dead soon anyway-no need in bothering with formalities.

Currently she was outside a house in the middle of suburbia. Why on Earth would any one her targets live here? What offense could they have possibly done? They’re civilians-not runaway vigilantes.

Swiftly she entered the back of the house; picking the lock was easy, there were people home but asleep and defenseless. The Assassin didn’t hold many codes of ethics but she held a few and one of them was that the other side must have a fair chance. Quietly she went around the house with her silver eyes examining each and every piece inside the house. This place was quite homey…if she could remember her previous life. There were family photos, child drawings, and just a general a warm and welcoming feeling. However she couldn’t feel this warmth or the guilt of breaking in someone’s house, she was robotic-just with a human face. Feelings had been removed her conscious years ago; the only possible emotions she could feel was anger…or emptiness. However if she ever gained back those emotions of guilt or happiness, they’d soon be beaten out of her.

But there was one object in this house that caught her interest; it wasn’t money, jewelry, or weapons…it was a ballerina box. Small, porcelain, and inside there was tiny dancer spinning on a turn table. The women who had used to be Sylvia did not know how to act when she saw it, and she was even more confused when her hand went to go twist the knob and the music started playing.

What were the feelings that were being expressed right now? Every time she tried to place that warmth in her chest, the words escaped her. They were on the tip of her tongue; the words were so simple, so easy to say, so outrageous and wrong, so right and amazing-but she couldn’t get the feeling described. What was forming on her face? It started with a…a…an S. Sm…sm…what was it? _Smile,_ it was a smile. A gloved hand went to reach her face; why was she smiling? What reason was she smiling for? Assassins don’t smile; they kill. There is no reason to smile. The first thought that came to her head was to break this object; she wasn’t supposed to feel like this; this warm fuzziness in her chest, those butterflies in her stomach, this wasn’t right. But every time she tried to throw it across the wall her hand gripped the object tighter and tighter.

However, the moment was short when a gun was pressed against her back, “Who are you?” Sylvia slowly set the box down as she held her hands up, “I don’t have a name,” not one that she knew at least, “They call me Assassin B.”

“What does the B. stand for?” The man demanded

“I don’t know.” She stated rather plainly. She hadn’t had the use for names. No one bothered learning hers or needed to know hers, the only person who knew was her Captain and her leader. Not that she really had a choice in even liking her leader or captain. Personally, if she wasn’t void of emotion, she would hate them, she would hate them all.

“Why are you here?” The man gritted through his teeth as his gun dug into her skin.

“I’m here to find the leader of the Youngbloods,” she replied, “you wouldn’t happen to know where that certain leader is, would you?”

“Why would I tell you?” He said, “Just so you can kill him?”

“My task was to neutralize and bring him back.” The Assassin informed almost as if she were bored with the subject, “Killing him was a last resort,”

The two stood there in a deadly tango. No one dared to move; the man didn’t want to the trigger because unlike the assassin in family room, he had a conscious and killing was his last resort. However the assassin was against killing without order; she was told only to bring back the leader and if possible, the others. As much as she wanted to see his crimson blood on the ground, that would have to wait for another day.

“Why,” he repeated, “why do you need to bring him back?”

Him. Now she was getting somewhere. But what was his name; what did you look like? Was he short, tall, wide or thin? So many questions that yet to be answered-maybe she could figure it out just by answering his question, “Because I was told to,” there was no other reason. The assassin had no vendetta, no revenge plan, no grudge, or any misplaced anger. It was just simply an order given to her and a good little solider follows the orders given to her.

“Why,” the man wondered.

“Because I have no other choice,” the woman stated as she grabbed the gun. There was only a second for the man to react; one moment she was facing away from him and the next she was hitting him in the head with his shotgun. Again and again she hit him, once in the gut with her foot and another in his face with her fist. Clearly she didn’t even have the need for a weapon to beat him-but that doesn’t mean this fight is necessarily over. As the man she was fighting stumbled over his feet she picked up the ballerina box and continued on her way out of the house. She was in no rush; who else could possibly be in his house?

Assassin B. almost made it out of the family room before feeling a hand on her shoulder. Now the tables had turned; she couldn’t react fast enough-even with her training. The man managed to land several punches on her; two in the face, one kick in the abdomen. The woman once called Sylvia was brought to her knees, _almost_ dropping the small box in her hand. The glare on her face hardened, “I was going to let you go,” she muttered, “but I guess now I have to kill you.” With one mighty kick to his crotch; she stood up and smiled, but without any kind of emotion. No anger, no sadness or compassion, there was just…emptiness in her gaze. Where had all the emotions gone? Where had the human part of her gone?

“Pete,” questioned a voice behind her, “what’s going on?” The short mostly black haired woman looked over her shoulder. There was a man behind her, short, not chubby, but he had a little skin on his bones. He wore black framed glasses and a black hat...she believed it was called a fedora. His eyes were confused…but hers were even more so. Where had she seen before? She knew him…she knew him from somewhere. Just looking at him made her head feel fuzzy…who was he?

“Who the heck are you?” The man wondered. However the assassin couldn’t hear him over the loud ringing in her ears. She slowly walked towards him in daze, her hand let go of the object and let it roll on to the floor without breaking. Her breathing was rather shallow as she reached out towards the man. There was something she had to tell him. Something important, something crucial, life or death-oh what was it? Every time she though her mind only became foggier and foggier; who was he?

However she knew this man, this short; fedora wearing man; however, she couldn’t put her finger on his name. There was also a feeling that washed over her. She needed to tell him something, something important. It was paramount that she told him-but what was it? What was that thing? Who was this man who made her so weak? There was no time to question because everything was inside her was shutting down. Her mind, her body, and eventually everything just turned off…

**OOOOO**

_“Don’t forget his-,”_ the voice said, _“-is out there. You…his…-dead.”_ The voice sounded familiar, _“He’ll be devastated…both of them will,”_ Sylvia didn’t know what the voice was talking about. Who is ‘he’ and what does it mean both of ‘them’. _“The…is with…you’ll know where they are.”_ Who? That was the question. _“I can’t forget…they’ll make me forget.”_ A part of her wanted to forget at that moment, being there, remembering all of this. Or at least parts of the puzzle, _“I don’t want to forget…I shouldn’t forget what I’ve done.”_ The feeling of remorse and guilt washed over the assassin, the two feelings were strange for her. It had been years since she had truly felt those emotions…not that she could fully remember having those emotions in the first place.

But soon guilt and remorse was replaced by fear, that voice was no longer informative and impartial…but sent shivers down her spin-and not the good kind either. Her breath became scarce as it infiltrated her mind. _“What a failure…”_ the voice said, _“looks like I’ll have to train you again._ ” She whimpered as tears fell down her face. The recovering assassin tried to escape her bonds, the more they restricted her, the more she panicked. She couldn’t be in _that_ room again. She couldn’t forget everything _again_. Her mouth opened to scream for help or for him to stop, Sylvia couldn’t tell which one. _“There is no use in screaming Sylvia, no one can hear you.”_ The women could hear the morbid smile form on his face. _“Remember, you brought this on yourself,”_ and then it was gone. All the feelings, all the fear, guilt, and remorse; but something was still there…or someone was at least.

“How did she break out of the bonds?” Pete wondered, he was farther away then the other ones. Three of them were in front of her, and one was right next to her ear.

“She sounded terrified.” Another higher pitched voice said, “Something must’ve scared her.”

“What-a spider?” Muttered Pete, he didn’t trust her. She was one their experiments; one of their killers, she got her hands dirty so that they didn’t have to.

Sylvia finally opened her terrified eyes and with little to no effort she pushed away from them and into a corner. She braced for punishment. Her scarred pale arms held out in front of her. There were too many things happening at once; the world was in high definition now, everything was too bright, too vivid, too much for Sylvia’s brainwashed head to handle. Not everything had come back all that once though (thankfully), just the world regained its color. Before everything was just grey, black, white, boring, and nothing stood out. Not the scarlet blood that spilled out of her victims, or the grey brain matter that she shot of their skulls either.

Patrick got up to go comfort of the women, but Pete held him back. “Whoa, dude,” he said, “you can’t just-”

“Pete, she can barely breathe, let alone kill me.” The short man informed. He slowly approached the cowering women. His kind eyes examined her as knelt down; his face struck a cord in her. Sylvia knew this man…she had seen him before. His voice was familiar; soft, kind, almost like wearing a warm pair of pjs. This was Patrick wasn’t it? That man named Pete…short too, dark-no he had a lighter shade-blonde maybe? Where had she heard those names before? “Hey…” he said softly, his honey-like voice serenading her sensitive ears, “It’s alright; we won’t hurt you.” Pete muttered something under his breath as he leaned against the wooden wall, “Well… _I_ won’t hurt you.” Patrick held out his hand in effort to show that he was no threat; however she continue further shove herself in the corner. However, as he continued to speak and assure her that nothing was going to happen to her, she eased slightly. Then in one fluid motion she had wrapped her arms around the kneeling man as she clung to him.

Pete and the other two men were close to intruding; Pete especially, he held no respect for a murder. He was not above killing a killer.

“D-don’t send me back there,” she begged, “please…anywhere but back to _him_.” Even though she could not recall her life before this, she knew that anywhere was better than where she came from. Even thinking about that small metal box made her panic, for that was her fear, being trapped and alone. “You don’t know what they do to traitors.”

“It’s ok,” Patrick cooed as he petted the women’s hair, “just breathe,” as she did she caught the scent of the kind man. The smell reminded her of early spring in a forest: musky, fresh, and tinge of sweetness. _Just like him…_ she thought to herself; however, the pleasant moment only lasted for a few seconds. Sylvia pulled away and stared at her fingers; she remembered how she go there…and she didn’t blame the other men for being hesitant to trust her. She’d be hesitant of herself too…considering what she had done.

“I-I’m sorry…” she apologized even though her emotions had not fully returned to her yet. It always took a few days…maybe weeks…the assassin was never able to keep track of time. “I didn’t really know what I was doing…I can’t control it.” Each time they caught her they would play with her mind like putty, molding it to how they want it to be. Every time she lost a piece of herself, and she knew it would be impossible to get it back. “I-I didn’t hurt anyway d-did I?”

“Me,” muttered Pete, as he rubbed the area Sylvia had hurt him.

“Be thankful I didn’t kill you,” Sylvia replied, “most people who meet me don’t live very long afterwards.” There had been countless of innocent lives that taken by her hand, currently she had no remorse…however that would probably soon change in the near future. Typically it hit her all at once like freight train in her heart, or as if she is sprinting into hard brick wall; everything hurts. Her head, her heart, and her conscience, nothing was left in peace.

“Do you mind if telling us who you are?” Patrick asked. He was being oddly kind to her, not that she objected to the action. She knew she didn’t deserve any drop of kindness after the atrocities she had committed, but it was nice to be treated as though she wasn’t a monster.

Sylvia, even though she didn’t quite knew that was her name yet, shook her head and shrugged hopelessly. “It’ll come back in a few days maybe…” however, it was always different each time her memory came back. The very first time it happened it was the equivalent of an dam breaking, everything came back all at once, every memory, every moment, and all the emotions that she had previously lacked. Needless to say it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, however, the second time that she can recall was more like a steady stream; it wasn’t great to have those memories shoved back into her mind, but it wasn’t extremely unpleasant. She doesn’t remember a third time, all those memories were gone, or at least every one of them has a vacant spot in her head. “Just call me B.”

**OOOO**

It would take only a day for Sylvia to become acquainted with Patrick, make mortal enemies with the man named Patrick, and briefly talk to Joe and Andy. She was still quite reserved and a bit emotionless, so any time they asked her questions she’d shot them down faster than they can fall. The women didn’t know any better though, it’s not like she understood what the word she spewed; they were just words to her. Words were just letters, letters made up the words that made up the sentences formed by her vocal cords, and uttered out of her mouth. What was the worst those little letters could do? She spoke all the time to her cohorts, not the men she was currently with, but they could be considered friends. They had a healthy competition (not exactly a harmless fun competition, but a competition none the less) what harm could come of talking about that competition?

Apparently a lot…

There was a photo on a fridge; there was a family in it. Someone was in the photo…Peter-Patrick? She couldn’t tell, the picture was obviously dated, but there was one – no – two faces that she recognized. However, the names did not come to mind, but the actions she did sure did.

“Who is that?” Sylvia asked as she gestured to the picture.

“Hm,” murmured Andy as he looked at the photo, “Patrick’s family,” original

Uh oh…

“Why?” The tattooed man wondered, “Did you know them?”

“You could say that…” the assassin informed, “I killed them.”


	2. You Called?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash back of the Sylvia sorts, and also the Killjoys are introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the chapter is a bit short for your taste, but at least it is something. Hope you enjoy.

**3 years ago…**

The ride was long, almost unbearable, but Assassin B. was not anxious, neither was she nervous. Those feelings were wiped from her brain several months ago, she no longer could be the person who bit her nails as she waited for her fate to come. Her heart never skipped a beat; her breathing never became shallow or sped up. She was calm, but she knew somewhere in the void heart of hers that the calmness that was bestowed on her was wrong. This action she was told to do was wrong, a terrible deed, a travesty, and there was nothing the rational part of her could do to stop it from happening.

There was always a little song she would hum as she drove though, but she never knew the name of the lullaby. Every time she sang the melody there was something that awoken in her. It was a weird sensation, like if she was awakening from a deep slumber. Everything seemed to make sense when she hummed that melody; there was no one to yell at her when she hummed it, no party pooper saying that she is childish by hanging to other memories, but she didn’t know why she hummed this song. It was as though it was piece of her, and she couldn’t let it go.

As she drove she saw many houses, all of them looked the same. Black and white, boring and dull, pointless and void of any meaning. Did she ever have a home, a family, someone she loved, a person she cared for? Maybe in another life time…but not now…not today. The family she was after today was someone who apparently offended someone who was high up on the corporate ladder of the company. Did they deserve to die…maybe…probably not, but that wasn’t her choice to make. She did as she was told, nut that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. Not that she could be happy about it or angry about it, it’s –well you know, complicated.

Finally as she made it to her destination she stopped her motorcycle. There was a moment that she could turn away, make the right choice, but she didn’t, and maybe that was the reason she ended up with this women’s husband several years after this occurrence. If she had just said no, if she had just turned away, if the assassin had just left and never looked back, then maybe…just maybe…she wouldn’t have to wear this burden along with many others.

The house she entered was the last one of the block, the curb appeal was good, there were flowers planted underneath the large windows, and trimmed bushes framing the porch beautifully. If only Sylvia could admire their beauty, but the demon inside of her mind overpowered any kind of voice from her more reasonable side. Assassin B. didn’t bother knocking on the door, she was taught never to acknowledge social customs or any kind of customs really. She had no religion, no morals, and a few ethics, but not many. A fair fight was always fun; she loved it when her target’s fought back, it made her job more interesting.

However; this target was sorely unprepared for the assassin’s arrival, and Sylvia knew this. She was a mother of one, married to a suspect of treason and alone in a house that was placed in the middle of no where. Maybe that was for protection, but it didn’t help in her case. The corporation that Assassin B. worked for knew almost everything; they had eyes and ears everywhere. Sylvia occasionally was one of them, but she went only on one undercover mission and that ended terribly. She got blood on her favorite white button shirt, it was a horrible casualty.

The women tried to protect herself but the struggling only made it worse. Sylvia killed her swiftly with two bullet to the chest; the women had beauty, at least she could keep in it death. Next the assassin needed to find the child, it wasn’t supposed to be that old, a few months at most, it wouldn’t give her much trouble.

Or at least it shouldn’t have given her much trouble.

She heard the baby before she found the infant. It was crying loudly upstairs, the found of the gun probably startled it. When she had finally found the correct room the alarming sounds of the child crying had amplified, but Sylvia wasn’t angry at the annoying incessant noise, instead there was another emotion showing through. She wanted to see the child for other reasons than to kill him or her, it concerned her to some degree, but the need to know what was wrong over powered her wanting to finish the mission.

As Sylvia entered an azure shaded room she felt a tingling feeling in her head. It was like a itch she couldn’t reach, and as she tried to ignore it, the feeling became even more prominent, and instead of it being a harmless fuzz behind her eyes, it evolved into a cascaded into a pool of pain. A gasp left her mouth as she lost control of her limbs, and as Sylvia fell to the floor the sounds of the crying infant faded into a loud hum.

Her suppressed thoughts screamed at her, blabbering away about how she needed to remember, about how what she did was terrible, about what she was going to do was ever worse, and every time the screams reached her mind it exploded into a mass of convulsion. With every stab of pain that entered her mind flashes of people that she recognized, but did not know. The images were coming too fast, too quickly for Sylvia to analyze each and every one. There were too many people, to many feeling crashing down on her all at once, too many voices shouted in her ears, and she wanted to stop.

“Shut up,” the short haired women cried as she covered her ears, “shut up! Shut up, shut up!” However, the voices never stopped even with her pleas, and the images did not slow either. In fact they just got louder, and the memories appeared before her even quicker. “Stop it,” Sylvia begged, “please, stop it!” No one answered her, “Stop it, stop it…” tears streamed down her face as she endured the throbbing in her head, “I’m sorry,” the assassin finally said, “I’m so sorry…” there was sincerity to her tone, and desperate tinge to her cry. She truly felt horrible, and guilt did not even begin to cover about how bad she felt about killing…about killing his…

Slowly the aching in Sylvia’s head faded into a dull throb, and from there she knew what she had to do. There was no repenting for what she had done, and no excuses for what she had almost done. So there was only one thing she could do in order to prevent another tragedy. There was place she knew, it was far away from the corporation she worked. They barely knew about them, but Sylvia knew she could trust the small group of men.

She had met them almost a decade ago after leaving her friends for their safety. The group had saved her from being captured, and for a short while she stayed them. They were kind, giving, and far nicer to her than they should have been. Saying goodbye was harder than she had thought it was going to be, they were like her family…but _they_ were after her, and she knew that they’d do anything to find her. She couldn’t risk their lives for hers, and she would never forgive herself if she let anything happen to them.

So she promised herself she’d take care of this child, and make sure they never fell into the hands of the company. Sylvia would never let this infant become the monster she was, because there were deep bloodstains on her hands, and this child did not deserve to share them.

“I’m sorry,” Sylvia said as she picked up the child, “I’m so sorry,” the infant didn’t understand her of course, but the assassin hoped that he could forgive her someday when he was older, “But you’re going to be safe now, I promise.” Not that her promises meant much, but at least they were something. The mostly dark haired woman had packed clothing and some necessities, bottles, some formula, and a few toys to keep him entertained. Now Sylvia couldn’t take her own vehicle, it had tracker, they’d find her and the baby, and then kill them both. So she took the car parked in the driveway.

Finally she contacted her former group of allies. Sylvia couldn’t use a normal phone; it was too easy to track, so she found a pay phone by the side of the rode. Party Poison (Gerard, he just insisted she called him Party since, you know, they were kind of ‘vigilantes’) was ecstatic to hear her voice. She could hear Ray-sorry _Jet Star_ -he didn’t mind when Sylvia used his real name in conversation, it was refreshing at times; but he was thankful to know she was still alive. Mikey and Frank weren’t too concerned but they said their hellos anyway.

She met Gerard and Frank at a rest stop; she didn’t want to know where they were staying. Once she was under _his_ control there was no telling what she would say. Her monster was far more powerful than she was.

“Sylvia,” Party Poison smiled as he embraced her, “it’s great to see you again. Where have you been?”

She bit her limp and she avoided his gaze, “It’s complicated.”

“What’s with your hair?” Frank wondered, noticing the length, the darker color, and stripe of white on her scalp. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Look,” Sylvia said, “I called you because I made a mistake.” A huge mistake with no ailment, and this was the least she could do to make up for it, “But I need to ask you for a favor,”

“Sure,” Gerard said without questioning her motives. Oh he would hate her; he wouldn’t even want to look at her if he knew what she had done. She barely wanted live after she broke the trance, oh god she hoped this was a nightmare…but unfortunately this was a night terror was not one she could just simply wake up from.

“I need you to look after something for me.” Sylvia informed, “If they find him, they’ll kill him, and I’ve done too much to him already.” She would certainly never be able to forgive herself…there were many things she couldn’t forgive herself for. No one would ever be able to forgive her…and they shouldn’t have to.

Sylvia handed the baby to Frank. She looked so pitiful at that moment, so alone and regretful. Gerard couldn’t help but ask, he could never bear to see her in pain. “Sylvia,” he said softly, “what happened?”

She took a deep breath in as she attempted a response, “Remember when that time when I asked you what happened during the war?” It was a scar that ran deep, but when Sylvia was younger she wasn’t exactly known for being reserved. Once you got her talking, that blubber mouth wouldn’t stop talking or asking questions for that matter, but Gerard knew what she was hinting and nodded. “Can we just leave it like we did that?”

Frank had this look on his face as he took turns taking glances at both of them. He did not know this form of code between them; she was always closer to Party Poison than anyone else. They were like brother and sister the two of them, had each other’s backs more than the group had each other’s.

Gerard sighed as he caved in, “Fine-but the conversation isn’t over.”

“For now it is,” Sylvia replied as she hopped back in the car, “take care Killjoys, and hope we don’t meet again soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, so did you like it? Comment if you did, it's much appreciated. So I'll see you next time, and remember, stay awesome my friends.


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